Chapter 23
twenty-three
A sharp sting of pain radiates through my chest as I come to.
My eyes flutter furiously, like butterflies trapped in a glass cage, fighting against an invisible weight.
I cough and sputter, the pain increasing as I struggle to take a breath.
My chest feels like it is caught in the grasp of a boa constrictor.
The cracks in my lips split even wider, blood pooling in my mouth as a hoarse cry rises in my throat.
Fuck.
It is like someone has pressed the mute button on the controller.
The only sound I can hear is the ear-piercing ringing that tears through my head, sounding like one of those ungodly mosquito tones.
Slowly, I manage to open my eyes, the invisible weight pressing against them slightly dampened by my fierce determination to live.
Dust and debris have settled over my unprotected face. I lift my equally dusty hand to wipe at it, being mindful of my injuries, but it is like trying to wipe away mud with more mud. It just becomes worse.
A low keening whine spills from my lips unbidden as I struggle to move the weight of my own body.
My chest heaves in ragged sobs, tears spilling down my dirt-marred face as I crawl through several feet of debris toward the still body of Kristian, my guard.
He is half-buried in the building’s wreckage, his dark face covered in a heavy layer of white dust.
I reach out with a shaky hand to check his pulse.
Nothing.
He is dead.
The old me would have become numb. Would have curled up in a ball and let fate take over.
The old me is tired of war. Matthias isn’t gone, again, and this time it looks like it will be permanent.
The King. The Ruler. Fallen to his enemies.
There is no surviving that explosion.
No false death. No miraculous comeback.
No one could survive that.
What else is there to do but give in to fate?
Except, this isn’t a game of chess where the fall of the king means the end of the game.
No. This is war. And the war isn’t over until the queen is dead.
And I am the fucking Queen.
Or so I want to believe.
My empire is crumbling around me, and I am surrounded by the enemy.
No, literally, I am surrounded by no less than twenty men, the barrels of their guns pointed directly at me. I am impressed they think they need twenty men to take me in.
“Hello, dear,” a woman’s voice filters through the air, unbothered by the rising smoke and dust that covers the air.
I never expected her to betray me.
“Hello, Grandmother.”